


The Longest Day, the Shortest Life

by comicgeekery



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comicgeekery/pseuds/comicgeekery
Summary: Eugenides gets some unexpected company on one of the worst days of his life.





	The Longest Day, the Shortest Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florianschild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florianschild/gifts).



It was hard to believe the day had seemed so normal when it started. 

The king had barked some orders at his attendants as they dressed him in the morning, then ignored them as he went from one dull meeting to another. Philologos followed him dutifully, wishing and hoping that today might finally be the day his king would see him as more than a tolerated annoyance. 

Philologos sometimes wondered if his optimism was a curse.

While the king listened to some baron or other whine about land distribution and crop taxes, a woman stepped out from behind a tapestry at the side of the throne room. Philologos hadn’t known there was any sort of passage there. He started at the sight of her before he even registered that she was one of the queen’s handmaids, or that she looked like death itself chased her.

It was said that Eugenides knew all the secrets of the palace, both of the walls and every hushed voice. If Philologos could have seen his face, he wondered if there would have been a brief flash of annoyance as the king saw one of his precious passages revealed. 

Philologos saw no such flash. He didn’t even see his king move. In the blink of an eye Eugenides went from slumping lazily in his throne to standing by the frightened handmaid. Philologos never heard what they said but, from what came after, he could guess.

“What has happened? Is Irene safe?” Of course the king would have used his wife’s name. 

And the loyal handmaid, one of the best, wouldn’t have hesitated. “She’s dying. Go.”

Within another blink the king had disappeared.

For once no one begrudged Eugenides the chaos he left in his wake. The attendants scrambled, the baron huffed indignantly to have his meeting cut short. Everyone seemed to have no idea what needed to be done but a strong sense that, whatever it was, it was urgent. 

It wasn’t long before they found out the terrible news. 

The queen was dying. The child was early and the queen was bleeding out. 

Every doctor for miles was called for. 

Every fastest horse carried every lightest messenger. 

Time stood still.

Time went too quickly.

The queen was saved.

The child was not. 

And as the news spread like a plague, every heart in Attolia began to weep. 

It was hours later now, well past midnight. Philologos had been outside the queen’s chambers with the other attendants and numerous hangers-on since sunset. He didn’t know what they were waiting for, but he knew none of them dared to leave without word from the king. Yet in a way it almost felt impossible that any of them should ever seen their king again. 

Time moved forward and the banalities of life came with it. Philologos left for a moment to relieve himself. On his way back he found one of the doors he’d come through, a door that always stood open thanks to its position in a very busy hall, quite firmly closed. It didn’t budge a hair, even when he threw himself against it.

There were other routes to get back to the queen’s chambers, but they were much more circuitous and would take notably longer. He began to sweat at the thought that his long absence might be noticed and commented on. On a day like today even the slightest action could say volumes about one’s support of the queen and king. 

He shoved at the door again. Was it truly stuck? Should he run the long way around? He bit his lip in indecision. 

_Go. He needs you._

The voice came from somewhere in his own mind. Of course it did. And, contrary to its orders, it made Philologos freeze in place. Was that...Could it…? No. There were many, many questions that arose when one began to hear voices, particularly in the palace of the Thief of Eddis. Philologos was prepared to answer none of them.

_Now!_

Philologos ran.

He took the halls in twists and turns, barely paying attention to where he was going. Still, it was no surprise when he stopped suddenly outside the chambers the king had decided would be his, the only ones that faced his home. 

The halls were empty. The doors were already cracked open. Inside Philologos could see a collapsed, fragile man who didn’t have the energy to pretend to be anything else. 

For a moment, a miraculous moment, Philologos forgot he was an attendant and that Eugenides was a king. Philologos stumbled forward with a vague plan to offer a hug or some other comfort before he registered the madness of the idea. He stopped again, but the king had already already heard him. He looked up sharply, harshly, only for his expression to go numb again once he saw Philologos’ nervous face. He didn’t say a thing, just went back to huddling around his knees at the base of his bed. 

Members of the court often said there were a thousand things to see in the king’s eyes, and every one was something he intended for you to see. Philologos had never confirmed it for himself. It wasn’t often he dared to look his king directly in the eye. 

But today was different. Today was not a day for kings and queens. Irene had lost a child and, Philologos realized suddenly, so had Eugenides. 

And who could he go to, to express his grief? Irene was already in torment. Besides her, Eugenides was surrounded by strangers and enemies. Even his favorite guard was in some distant land. People said he could speak to the gods, yet what man would solace from the very gods who had allowed his child to die?

It wasn’t even as simple as the death of an unborn babe. It was the death of an heir, the hope for the future of three kingdoms. Perhaps other children would come later, but this future would always be empty and forlorn, like a barren riverbed. 

“I was afraid, you know,” Eugenides said, sharply breaking the silence. “I didn’t know if I could handle being a father. Being a man who wouldn’t ruin his child’s life. I panicked at the thought that I’d have a son who wanted to be a soldier. My cousins would have never let me hear the end of it.”

He let out a single, cold chuckle. “I worried about assassins and legacies and arranged marriages. Presents and tutors, pets and hard lessons. Somehow I didn’t think that I’d never have the chance to worry about them properly.”

Then he paused and looked Philologos straight in the eye. The look was so simple and human, yet it had a rawness that made Philologos step back. “Now here I sit, bleeding my heart out without even a drink of wine to use as an excuse. I suppose all the other attendants will know about this by tomorrow?”

“Never, my King,” Philologos breathed. He couldn’t think of an action more base than reducing this moment to gossip. “This is no day for politics.”

Eugenides shook his head. “I’m afraid there is no such thing, Philologos. Still, I thank you for saying it. Time will tell if your honor is aligned with your words. I’m afraid for the moment I don’t quite care.” He stared down, looking intently at something in his lap.

“May I...May I sit with you...Eugenides?”

If the use of his name surprised the king he didn’t show it. Instead he gave a barely perceptible nod and Philologos sat beside him. They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak. The whole thing felt like a bizarre dream. Time passed and candles burnt low. Neither of them moved. Somehow that on its own felt like enough. 

Hours later Eugenides suddenly stood and an instant later one of the queen’s handmaids stuck her head through the still-open door. 

“She is awake?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Then I will be with her in a moment.”

The woman nodded her head and withdrew. Sometimes Philologos envied the queen’s maids and attendants. They always seemed to have a much better sense of what they needed to do. Perhaps that was what life was like when your sovereign liked you.

Then, to his shock, Philologos felt a cupped hand against his arm.

“It seems my little slice of peace is at an end. Thank you for making sure I wasn’t alone, Philologos. I...I suppose I might have done something foolish if I’d only had my thoughts for company. The gods are quite tired of that habit by now.”

Eugenides drew in a deep breath, like he was fortifying himself to return to a battlefield. He placed something in Philologo’s palm and began to step out of the room. “Find somewhere safe to put that. I don’t want to look at it now, but maybe someday it will have a use again.”

Philologos looked down to see what the king had given him. It was a carefully carved wooden hand, bent into the perfect shape to cradle an infant’s head. 

By the gods themselves, how was the whole world not weeping?


End file.
